


More Than Meets the Eye

by JekyllAndCry17



Category: Jekyll & Hyde - Wildhorn, The Glass Scientists (Webcomic), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JekyllAndCry17/pseuds/JekyllAndCry17
Summary: The newest lodger at the society is more than what she seems.





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Glass Scientists](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/445718) by Sabrina Cotugno. 



> a.) Yeah, this fic is really long... I'm sorry about that. I will be adding new chapters as I write them, and it may be a long time in between because high school.
> 
> b.) This is sort of a crossover fic??? It takes place in the TGS universe but I've borrowed bits and pieces from the 1997 obc production of the musical and from the original book and tried to piece them all together. Make of it what you will.
> 
> c.) Yeah, it has Emma in it. I know she's kinda unpopular, but I've made a lot of edits to her character and given her somewhat of a different backstory, so if that changes anything, there ya go???
> 
> d.) I've tried to make it somewhat historically accurate in terms of language and societal norms??? So if some things in the fic seem a little different from the TGS vibe I'm sorry; I tried to go for a balance.
> 
> e.) I totally understand if you don't like Emma/Jekyll, but if you don't like my fic please don't be rude about it... I'm new to AO3 so idk if there's already rules against that, but like, be nice please??? that's all???
> 
> f.) I'm sorry in advance for the fact that the only thing I can write half decently is dialogue, so there's a lot of talking in this fic lol.

 

Click, click, click, click.

Shiny black shoes gently struck pavement as Dr. Henry Jekyll made his way down a street that was otherwise as silent as an empty library. He was not headed in anywhere particular, nor was he altogether aware of where his legs were taking him. He instead let his instincts guide him vaguely from corner to corner, allowing himself time to bathe in the gentle light of the streetlamps. He breathed deeply the chilly evening air, trying to return the edge to his senses that had been thoroughly dulled by lack of rest.

Evening walks were not an uncommon happenstance in the doctor’s life; he was perpetually plagued by an inability to sleep and a measure of inescapable anxiety, and being outside helped him clear his head whenever its chaos became so great that he couldn’t focus on his work. On this night in particular, his restlessness had been cultivated in part by the unsettling voice in the back of his mind that had caused him more than his fair share of troubles.

_ Dr. Jekyll, the shameless masquerader! You’ve been lying to them, Henry. They trust you with their lives, look up to you like children, and you won’t even tell them the truth. The Good Little Doctor couldn’t bear for them to know his dirty little secret, can he? Couldn’t bear to let them know the polish is only skin deep. _

“Stop it,” he muttered into the night, although no one walked beside him to hear. “We both know it has to be this way.”

_ Oh, but does it really? Why not just… Let go for a while? Give up the reigns for a night. Forget about hiding, about masking your true nature. Embrace it. Embrace the darkness at your very core. _

“And let you make a wreck of another street?” he retorted, recalling all too well the trouble Hyde had caused  _ last  _ time. “Besides, whatever you like to believe, you will never be my true nature. I was here long before you were even an ugly little idea in the back of my mind. You’re just a whiny, melodramatic little error of mine that’s come back to bite me in the ass more times than I care to count, and that is all you will ever be.”

_ That street was not my fault… Mostly. Anyways, Moreau had it coming to him. Definitely worth starting a little fire for. _

“Of course you’d say that,” grumbled a disgruntled Jekyll. “You weren’t the one whose reputation was tarnished, and last I checked, you never do anything useful to pay for the damages you leave behind you wherever you go.”

_ Ah, that reputation of yours. What a burden to carry all the time. It’s no wonder you look half-dead all the time, no wonder you seem so desperately in need of a break. Why not sit back and shed that damned facade for an evening? Leave everything to me. Let down your guard. _

“Not in your wildest dreams,” the doctor said through gritted teeth, growing tired of the incessant nagging and knowing exactly where it was about to lead.

_ Dammit, Jekyll! I’m bored! You can’t ignore me forever! _

“I can try,” he sighed, barely acknowledging the temper tantrum being thrown in the backseat of his consciousness.

Just as the voice prepared to spew a stream of profanities that would give a sailor a run for his money, lights flashed on in a large house several feet ahead, distracting the two from their argument and stopping Jekyll in his tracks. Shouting and thumping could be heard from inside the building, and, more quietly, muffled sobs. The door was flung open with unnecessary force and a frightened young woman tumbled out into the street. From the doorway, an extremely angry man tossed boxes and leather files out into the street, letting them fall open and sending a whirlwind of papers, clothes, and glass cases cascading all around. Several of the cases shattered, and shards of glass flew everywhere as the woman ducked and shielded herself with her arms. The angry man, now red in the face, tossed bags of paintbrushes and pencils, shouting loudly and letting them hit the woman, who was still sniffling on the ground.

“I told you to get rid of this rubbish!”

“No, Simon, please, it’s not what you-”

“I  _ told _ you I won’t have a working woman for a wife! You lied to me! You  _ disobeyed _ me!”

“Simon, I only wanted to-”

“ _ I  _ am the master of this house, not you, woman! Learn your place! You want to work, you can find a new fiancé! You can find a new  _ home _ !”

“I just thought-”

“Get out!”

“Please, Simon! I’m sorry! I-”

“ _ Get out! _ ”

The door slammed forcefully, echoing all around the street. From behind it, the clatter of a lock being put into place could be heard. The woman in the street began to sob even harder, forcing herself to her hands and knees to gather up the debris in the street.

Despite reason advising him not to get involved, Dr. Jekyll felt his heart drop with sympathy for the terrified woman and knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t help her.

_ Sniveling mess like she is, no wonder he gave her the boot! But of course, the great Dr. Jekyll can’t leave well enough alone, now can he? Off to play the hero, I presume? _

Ever the gallant one, Dr. Jekyll shook himself from where he had stood frozen in surprise and hurried over to help the young lady.

“Excuse me, miss… Are you alright?” he asked gently, picking up several slightly muddied papers. Only now in the lamplight could he see that they were botanical paintings, enticingly colorful and accurate to the very last detail, with labels so neatly-written they may as well have been printed. The woman didn’t respond to his question, unable to form coherent words through her tears. Instead, she crawled around frantically, gathering her things and trying to put them back into files and boxes as quickly as possible.

“May I help you, miss?” Jekyll tried again, holding out the stack of paintings to the woman. She stopped for a moment, slowly raising her tear-soaked eyes to meet his. She nodded nervously, accepting the papers. Up close and in the lamplight, Jekyll could see that there were bruises forming on her jawline and that her lip was bleeding. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket.

“Here,” he said softly, holding the handkerchief out to the woman. Sniffling, she took the handkerchief, wiping the mud, blood, and tears from her face as quickly as she could before handing it back to the doctor ashamedly.

“Please, take my coat,” Jekyll offered, sliding it from his shoulders. “You must be freezing.” And indeed she was, for she wore only a nightgown and had clearly been awoken by the angry man, judging by the tangled mess of hair tumbling over her shoulders. Jekyll gently wrapped his woolen peacoat over the woman’s bare back and arms, trying to chase away the goosebumps and shivers that were already racking her body.

“These paintings,” he said, collecting a few more, “They’re beautiful. Are they your work?” The woman nodded slowly, resuming her gathering of debris. In the glow of the streetlight, Jekyll could now see that the glass cases whose covers had shattered had contained exotic specimens of insects, each labeled and mounted inside. Most of the specimens were still mounted firmly in place, but a few had to be plucked with the utmost delicacy from the layer of broken glass on the ground. After several minutes, they finished consolidating all of the young woman’s things. With the mess cleared to the best of their ability and the woman’s sobs diminishing to sniffles, the doctor felt as though now would be the most tactful time to introduce himself.

“My name is Dr. Henry Jekyll,” the doctor began, offering his hand to help the woman up. “Perhaps you are familiar with my place of business, the Society for Arcane Sciences?” The woman nodded a little, her face betraying her surprise at his question.

“I live and work there,” he continued, “and I know of a certain crypto-horticulturalist in need of someone to document some rare specimens. We could really use a botanical artist, if you’re interested.” The woman had stopped sniffling and had a look of incredulity on her face as if she had been told the most shocking piece of good news imaginable but was struggling to process it.

“You could, of course,” said Jekyll brightly, wearing a soft smile that he hoped would appear encouraging, “become a lodger at the society if you should like. No need to, of course, if you already have somewhere to go, but the society always has room for new boarders and you’d be welcome to join us anytime. I didn’t catch your name by the way. If you don’t mind my asking, what may I call you?”

“Emma,” the woman answered hesitantly, smiling a little despite having just a few moments ago been sobbing as if the world were ending. “My name is Emma. Emma... Claridge. I… I think I’ve seen your society. Tall white building with the columns? Twenty minute walk from here? Got into some trouble last week over a torn up street?”

“That’s the one, I’m afraid” laughed the doctor a little nervously, “but I assure you we are a most respectable organization. That little, er… disturbance… was merely an unfortunate accident, nothing more”

“I see… Well, what brings a gentleman like yourself to associate with such an organization?”asked Emma, peering at him curiously. “Are you a scientist yourself?”

“I am,” he said, “but my work is rather dull and uninteresting to most people. I’m sure I’d bore you to describe it. And I merely play the part of the gentleman to uphold the society’s image. At heart, I am a doctor, not an aristocrat.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Emma giggled. “In any case, why were you walking around here in the dark in the wee hours of morning?”

“Nowhere better to think than on a quiet walk in the dark,” laughed Jekyll, flashing his typical dazzling smile that always seemed to compel anyone around him to like him instantly. Emma decided, without any real reason to, that she trusted him.

“Well, Miss Claridge,” Dr. Jekyll continued, “Can we look forward to your presence at our society this fine evening?” Emma looked as if she were about to say yes immediately, but then her her expression changed and her face fell.

“How much will it cost me?” she asked apprehensively, suddenly remembering her predicament. “I really don’t have much to give.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” the doctor laughed. “You won’t be charged a penny. The society is kept afloat with our donors’ generous patronage and revenue from events we host. We only ask that lodgers try to keep out of trouble and contribute to exhibitions if they can.”

“I suppose I can try,” Emma mused, looking embarrassedly down at the cobblestones beneath her feet, “but I’m not sure I have much worth contributing.”

“Of course you do,” Dr. Jekyll countered, gesturing towards one of the leather files filled with paintings. “Those are the most precise botanical paintings I’ve ever had the pleasure to see. Any botanical scientist would be clamoring to employ your skills.”

“Well, if you say so, I suppose...” Emma laughed sheepishly, looking at the ground.

“Now,” declared the doctor with a grin, “I’ll help you carry your things to the society. It’s only a short walk from here.”

The two collected Emma’s possessions, tucking them haphazardly under their arms and in the crooks of their elbows. They made short work of the walk to the society, eager to set their burdens down and ease the strain on their limbs. By the time they found themselves on the walkway, doctor Jekyll was grappling with the urge to take off his cravat and undo to the top button on his collar, for the boxes were heavy and he had begun to sweat from the effort of carrying them.

Emma, however, was too caught up in her surroundings to pay attention to the weight of her boxes. Perhaps it  _ did _ help that Dr. Jekyll had offered to carry the heaviest ones for her.

“Oh my… The architecture,” she breathed, turning her head from side to side to take in the stately marble columns and the pristine rows of windows, all dark except for those just above the door and one in an upper level. “It’s beautiful. This is the first I’ve seen it up close.”

“Yes, I suppose it is dazzling the first time around,” said the doctor dismissively, climbing the step and putting down his boxes to open the door. “Especially for an artist like yourself.”

As the doctor held the door and Emma stepped through the threshold, she nearly dropped her boxes. So dumbstruck was she by the room she found herself in, she was barely aware of the doctor closing the door behind her. Glass cases of varying heights stood all around, housing specimens Emma had only ever seen the likes of in library books about distant countries. Atop pedestals and stands, Emma could see artifacts whose purpose she couldn’t even guess at. To her left, an entire human skeleton stood by the entrance like a butler welcoming a guest, while an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus stood opposite it. A tendril of electricity ran above Emma’s head, conducted by two colossal metal rods that stood on opposite sides of the room. From the ceiling hung an assortment of mismatching light bulbs, a hot air balloon, various complicated contraptions that looked as if they were meant to fly, and, most shockingly, the enormous skeleton of an aquatic beast that, although not moving, still seemed to Emma not to be entirely dead.

“What is that creature?” she asked in wonder as Jekyll strode ahead of her to lead the way.

“It’s a leviathan,” said a grinning Dr. Jekyll matter-of-factly. “Not just creatures of legend.”

Emma followed the doctor, barely able to contain her interest in the wondrous curiosities all around. It was difficult to tear her eyes from the eclectic little museum in the entrance hall, but she stayed close behind Dr. Jekyll, not wanting to get lost as he ascended the stairs and strode deeper into the building. The hallways were decorated with expensive-looking wallpaper and carpets so fancy Emma felt somewhat guilty for treading on them in her dirty shoes. It had been a long time since she’d been in a building as classy as this one.

“Perhaps you ought to be in a room near Mr. Bird,” the doctor mused. “Mr. Bird is the crypto-horticulturalist I mentioned before. Ah, here. This should do nicely.” Just a few rooms away from a door that read ‘Bird & Archer,’ Dr. Jekyll gestured Emma into a room. The space was fairly humble, furnished with only a bed, a nightstand, a chair, a mirror, a wardrobe, and a drafting table, but it was more than Emma could have hoped for, considering how she’d just been thrown to the streets, and there was a large window that looked out over the glowing city. On the horizon, Emma could just see the sun coming up.

“One of the lodgers found she had too much equipment and moved from this room to a larger one,” said the doctor. “It’s not enormous, but’s placed rather conveniently, and if you find that you need more space, all you need do is ask. If you should require anything at all while you are here, my office is the room exactly opposite this one on the other side of the hall. You’ll find me there practically all hours of the day and night. I’ll leave you to get some rest now, since it’s nearly dawn. Shall I bring you a cup of tea before bed?”

“That would be lovely,” Emma replied, already feeling a yawn forming. “Thank you for your kindness and your hospitality. I would still be sitting in a puddle on the street if not for you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” the doctor said with a smile. “I couldn’t very well have left you there, now could I? I’ll be back momentarily.” He ducked out, gently closing the door.

Emma slowly moved the boxes to the corner, resolving to herself that she’d unpack them in the morning.

It was only now that Emma suddenly remembered that she still wore Dr. Jekyll’s coat and her nightgown, which was covered in mud and God shows what else from when she fell in the street. She draped the doctor’s coat over the bedpost, noticing only now that it smelled sweetly of peppermint. Emma took another nightgown from the top box, and changed quickly, not sure of when the doctor would return and anxious that he shouldn’t walk in while she was undressed.

This worry turned out to be irrelevant, as the doctor did not return immediately. Emma could feel her arms growing cold again and her eyelids becoming heavy. She slipped into bed, not entirely expecting how fast exhaustion would wash over her or how comfortable the blankets would be. In moments, without even meaning to, Emma had drifted off to sleep.

Downstairs, Dr. Jekyll leaned against the counter in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to whistle.

Poor, pathetic, girl.  _ I’m sure she thinks you’re a real honorable gent. How disappointed she’d be if she knew. How disappointed they’d all be. Is there a single person in your life you aren’t lying to? _

“Why don’t you just disappear for a while?” grumbled an irritated Dr. Jekyll as he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “You have nothing productive to say, so why not say nothing at all?”

_ You know what I want, Jekyll. Deny me much longer and you won’t see an hour’s peace, I can guarantee that. _

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you only children throw fits when they don’t get to do what they want?”

_ Says the one who gets to stroll around whenever he likes. And you don’t even do anything interesting with that freedom! You spend all day skulking in your office and picking up every sad-looking homeless person you meet! If you weren’t such a pathetic, law-abiding shut-in-” _

“Perhaps,” said the doctor as he heard the sound of the kettle boiling, “instead of whining about how boring I am you might consider addressing your own recklessness, irresponsibility, and complete lack of self-control.”

_ Perhaps you might go fuck yourself. _

“I think I’ll decline that invitation,” Dr. Jekyll retorted lightheartedly, pouring the boiling water over a teabag and into a cup, then heading for the door with the tea. Hyde continued to gripe from the back of their shared mind as the doctor made his way to Emma’s room. Passing windows, he could just glimpse the sun rising in the east. ‘Poor Miss Claridge must be exhausted,’ he thought to himself, trying to ignore Hyde’s steady stream of complaints that plagued his head like a swarm of wasps.

He knocked gently on Emma’s door. When there was no response, he knocked again. Still, no response. Cautiously, he inched the door open, hoping he wasn’t intruding on anything. She was expecting him, after all. At first he didn’t see Emma, head buried in her pillow and blankets up to her chin. When at last he  _ did _ spy her, he smiled gently to himself. Her expression was peaceful and free of worry for the first time that evening. She would be happy and safe here, he’d make sure of that.

Quietly, so as not to wake her, Dr. Jekyll set the teacup on her nightstand. Perhaps she would awaken later and drink it before it got cold. Or at least if she found it in the morning she’d know that someone at the society had brought it and wanted her to feel at home.

The doctor made his way across the room as quietly as he could. Almost at the door, he spied his coat hanging on the bedpost and tiptoed back to retrieve it. Draping it over his forearm, Dr. Jekyll took one last glance at the face that just barely peeked out from the covers as he closed the door behind him.

Quite suddenly, the events of the evening began to catch up with him, and he realized his exhaustion. He knew he should go to bed, that he hadn’t slept in several days, that he was on the verge the of making himself sick with sleep deprivation. But then he remembered a stack of letters he should have responded to three days ago that were waiting for him on his desk. One more all-nighter couldn’t do too much harm, could it?

Dr. Jekyll crossed the hall to his office and closed the mahogany door behind himself as he entered. He took a moment to lean back heavily against the door, taking a deep breath to focus himself. His limbs felt heavy, his eyes felt dry and sore, and the edges of his vision had been blurred for the past few hours, though he was so used to that feeling he had barely noticed. The room was dimly lit, shrouded from the morning light by the thick red curtains with only the lamp on his desk to relieve the oppressive gloom, but the light made his tired eyes squint anyways. It wasn’t a particularly cheery office, but it was the only place he could focus. This was going to be a long, grueling night.

Dr. Jekyll slumped into the chair at his desk, taking a stack of stationary, a bundle of letters, and a pen from a drawer. He sighed, unfolding the topmost letter and scanning it before beginning his response.

It was another wealthy aristocratic couple requesting his presence at a dinner party next Thursday. Everything in him wanted to decline the invitation, to stay in, to get some sleep, but if he didn’t attend, he was sure to lose face, and the respectability and the finances of the society rode on the tails his good name. Instead, he wrote that he would be delighted to attend, that he was eagerly awaiting Thursday evening, and that he looked forward to seeing Sir and Lady Bathurst again. In truth, he couldn’t even remember what Sir and Lady Bathurst looked like.

_ They sound like a pair of dusty old raisins with sticks up their asses. _

“And you sound like an irritating little child. Why not just disappear for a while instead of distracting me?”

_ I’m bored. _

“You’re not the only one.”

Dr. Jekyll picked up the bottle of merlot that always sat on the corner of his desk next to a glass. The wine had been there, getting warm, for two days, but he poured himself a glass anyways.

_ What would your precious little lodgers think if they could see you right now? I mean, you’re damn near an alcoholic. Who’s to say they can trust you to take the lead? _

“I might remind you that your drinking habits aren’t much different from mine. Anyways, wine has a low alcohol content.”

_ Whatever helps you sleep. _

“We both know nothing helps me sleep.”

Dr. Jekyll yawned, struggling to hold himself upright. With a sigh, he dipped his pen in ink and began the next letter, hunching over the desk more and more with every passing minute. By now, some of the early risers were probably awake, and still there was more to do.

Letter after letter, the doctor responded with grace and geniality, inwardly dreading the time he was going to waste at these events when he had so much paperwork to be done, so many financial problems to solve, and so many lodgers to take care of. Especially one troublesome old lady in the attic who every day seemed to revel in finding new ways to make his life a living hell.

‘I must be sure check in a few hours to be sure that Dr. Frankenstein hasn’t tried to climb out of her window again. It’s a long fall from the attic.”

Dr. Jekyll’s last thought before his head touched the desk and his eyelids betrayed his will to stay awake was a vague worry about what Frankenstein’s creature would do him if anything happened to Dr. Frankenstein under his watch. Then, for the first time in days, Jekyll’s worries melted from his mind as he fell into a desperately-needed sleep.


	2. First Encounter

 

Emma awoke with a start to unfamiliar surroundings, disoriented and confused. This was not her bed, nor was this her room. The light was brighter than it should have been. Simon was not clamoring at her to awaken. Something wasn’t right.

And then she remembered the events of last night. How Simon had discovered her secret and threw her to the streets, how Dr. Jekyll had brought her to the society and given her a room, how she’d fallen asleep almost immediately.

She felt a twinge of guilt remembering how the doctor had promised to return with a cup of tea. Surely, he had come back only to find his efforts wasted. But then, why was there still a faint smell of peppermint?

Emma turned to her nightstand, surprised to see the little teacup. She picked it up gently, admiring the delicate blue flowers painted on its white porcelain sides. The tea was long past cold, but she sipped it anyways. The mint helped to chase the grogginess from the corners of her eyes and mind, and something about holding the teacup reminded her of home.

When the tea was gone, she set the teacup gently down on the nightstand and began trying to make herself look presentable.

She dug through her boxes, looking for a dress that might help her make a good first impression with the other lodgers. After what seemed like and eternity of internal debate, she decided on a delicate blue dress with tiny lace details at the collar. She hurriedly slipped on her dress, fumbling nervously with the buttons, before kneeling before the mirror to see her hair. She was just twisting it into a simple knot when the door burst open and a rather frustrated woman marched in.

Realizing there was someone already in the room, the woman stopped in her tracks.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed with surprise, “I’m terribly sorry! Dr. Jekyll didn’t tell us we had a new lodger! I was looking for some notes I might have left in here. I hope I haven’t intruded on anything.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Emma kindly, “I only arrived in the early hours of the morning, and quite unexpectedly as well. I imagine Dr. Jekyll didn’t want to wake anyone.”

“But then you haven’t met the others!” exclaimed the woman excitedly, as if she wanted nothing more than to have the honor of introducing Emma to them.

“No, I suppose I haven’t,” laughed Emma brightly, pinning her hair into place and tying it up with a blue ribbon. “Well, besides Dr. Jekyll, of course.”

“Well, would you allow me the pl-” she stopped for a moment, peering more closely at Emma. “My dear, whatever has happened to you?”

Emma’s heart dropped to her stomach in panic. Was there something wrong with her? Did something about her look wrong? She hurriedly turned back to the mirror, catching sight of the purple bruises along her jawline, and immediately deflated. She looked as though she had been on the losing end of a fight.

“Oh, I look frightful,” she said aloud with dismay. “How can I meet the lodgers this way?”

“I’m sure they won’t judge you for it,” the woman said gently. “A few might even be impressed. More importantly, though, are you quite alright?”

“Oh, these are just a little parting gift from my fiance,” said Emma dubiously. “Well, I suppose he isn’t my fiance anymore. Given the circumstances, I imagine the wedding’s been called off.”

“Good thing, too,” said the woman with a nod. “Anyone who takes to striking you certainly doesn’t deserve your hand in marriage, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” agreed Emma with a half hearted smile, “but what am I to do now? I can’t very well meet the other lodgers this way.”

“Nonsense,” the woman assured her. “Half the lodgers are so oblivious they’re not likely to notice, and the other half will hopefully have enough tact not to make a spectacle, but if it will ease your mind, I have a tin of powder somewhere in my room you might use to cover it up.”

“Oh, I’d be eternally grateful,” sighed Emma with relief.

“Then you just wait here, and I’ll return with the powder,” the lady promised before stopping in her tracks. “Oh, silly me! I clean forgot to introduce myself! I’m Miss Lavender, junior extremofaunic zoologist.”

“I’m Emma. Emma Claridge,” said Emma before adding sheepishly, “but I’m not a scientist. I’m a painter. Dr. Jekyll said someone here was in need of a botanical artist and seemed convinced that I would suffice.”

“Well, if he has such confidence in you, I’m sure you’re perfect for the job,” Miss Lavender assured her with a smile. “Oh, before I forget, do you mind if I search the wardrobe for my notes?”

“Not at all,” said Emma curiously. Miss Lavender opened the doors to the armoire and peered in, scanning the base and shelves.

“This used to be my room. I had so much equipment crammed into such tight quarters, I used this wardrobe to store beakers and graduated cylinders and journals and put my clothes under the bed, ha! Oh, I’m sure they’re in here somewhere… Ah-ha!” she exclaimed excitedly, seizing two large rolls of paper from the back corner. “Mummy has returned to claim you, my beauties!”

Emma chuckled lightheartedly at Miss Lavender’s antics. In seconds, Miss Lavender seemed to remember herself and closed the wardrobe doors.

“Ah,” she said brightly, “I’ll just bring these to my room and return with the powder then. I’ll only be a tick.” Miss Lavender bustled out of the door, notes in hand, leaving Emma alone.

Emma could see now why some people thought the scientists at the society were mad. It would be all too easy for someone on the outside to confuse well-meaning eccentricity like Miss Lavender’s with madness, especially coupled with the fear of scientific progress that seemed to plague London these days. ‘Nevertheless,’ Emma thought to herself, ‘Miss Lavender is a perfectly lovely woman and a refreshing contrast to the terrible, stuffy people I’m used to.”

Biding her time until Miss Lavender’s return, Emma opened one of the boxes from the corner and began to unpack.


	3. Introducing Dr. Lanyon

 

Dr. Robert Lanyon strode into the Society as if he owned the place. With all the money he’d invested in it, he nearly  _ did  _ own the place. He passed the artifacts and contraptions on display in the entry hall as if they were mere tables and chairs, unremarkable in every way. He barely acknowledged the lodgers he passed, and his presence at the society was so commonplace, they didn’t look twice at him. As usual, he was there for a discussion with Dr. Jekyll, and everyone else wasn’t much of his concern.

It wasn’t until he had nearly arrived at Dr. Jekyll’s office that he stopped in his tracks. Right across the hall from Dr. Jekyll’s door, Lanyon spied an unfamiliar face. A beautiful young woman with dark brown hair piled messily atop her head was following Miss Lavender out of a door, speaking excitedly in the sort of way a child does on Christmas morning.

“Miss Lavender,” she babbled, “How many lodgers live here? Are they all as friendly as you? Am I the only one who’s not a real scientist? What if they don’t like me? What if-”

“My dear Miss Claridge,” Miss Lavender reassured her. “Nearly everyone here has been in your shoes before. I’m sure you will be well-received. I only caution you that you may be assaulted with a barrage of questions- they are a rather curious lot. But I assure you, there isn’t a person in this building who means you any ill will.”

It was only now that Miss Lavender and the young lady caught sight of Dr. Lanyon. Miss Lavender greeted him with a professional-looking smile, and the young lady beside her gave a nervous curtsy.

“Dr. Lanyon,” Miss Lavender declared, “may I present to you Miss Emma Claridge, our newest lodger. She arrived last night.”

“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” said Emma with a delicate smile that she hoped would appear charming. She extended her hand graciously to Dr. Lanyon, waiting for him to take it in greeting.

Dr. Lanyon, however, did not accept her hand, nor did he return Emma’s friendliness. He nodded curtly at her, gave a disgruntled noise that sounded vaguely like ‘mmhmpf,’ and entered Dr. Jekyll’s study without knocking, looking considerably more irritated than he had when he first arrived.

Turning away from the closed door to confront his friend, Dr. Lanyon was surprised to see Dr. Jekyll passed out on his desk. Lanyon very nearly pitied him, for Dr. Jekyll looked exhausted beyond all measure. His hair stood up in odd places, his clothes were wrinkled, his face was drained of color, he was drooling on the paper beneath his face, and even asleep, the dark bags beneath his eyes were alarmingly obvious. Were it not for Dr. Lanyon’s encounter in the hallway, he would have returned later in the afternoon and left Dr. Jekyll to rest for the first time in days, but Dr. Lanyon was in too foul a mood to wait this time.

Instead, he took the stack of papers he had brought with him out from under his arm and slammed it down on Dr. Jekyll’s desk, inches away from his face.

Dr. Jekyll bolted upright at the noise, looking nearly startled out of his wits. There was drool caked on one side of his mouth.

Lanyon stood impatiently before his desk, glaring down at Dr. Jekyll until he finally raised his eyes confusedly to meet his friend’s. Slowly, as he regained self-awareness, a look of embarrassment crossed over Dr. Jekyll’s face. He dropped his gaze, wiped the drool from the side of his mouth, and smoothed out his hair and clothes as best he could. All the while, Dr. Lanyon watched him wordlessly until he finally spoke with words so sharp and icy they seemed tangible:

“Am I… Interrupting, you?”

“Er, hello, Robert,” Dr. Jekyll said abashedly, trying desperately to appear composed. “What brings you here this fine… Er, is it still morning?”

“It is 11:30 am,” said Dr. Lanyon with irritation.

“Ah, so it is,” mumbled Dr. Jekyll. “Well, er, from the look on your face, I imagine you’ve got something you want to say to me. I assume it’s about Miss Claridge?”

“Henry,” said Dr. Lanyon frustratedly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “we talked about this.”

“I… I know,” said Dr. Jekyll, looking down at his hands, with which he fidgeted nervously. “I didn’t mean to take on any more lodgers, Robert. I really didn’t, but she was thrown out of her home in the dead of night right before my eyes, and she was terrified, and I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn’t help her.”

“Henry,” said Dr. Lanyon, sounding less angry now and more impatient, “you cannot let your soft heart dictate the way you run this society. Funding is already so tight, I fear we are running out of time to save it.”

“I know, Robert,” Dr. Jekyll admitted, looking as guilty as he felt, “and I’m sorry. I truly am. But I’ll be damned before I allow money to overrule my sense of right and wrong. I’ll be damned before I let finances corrupt my conscience. I  _ will _ acquire the funds, Robert, damned if I don’t, but in the meantime I refuse to sit idly by while London’s brightest minds are flung to the streets like mere household pests!”

Dr. Jekyll’s face looked positively anguished now, and Lanyon could see that this dilemma had long been weighing on his friend’s conscience. He sighed, and his face softened. He never could stay angry at his friend, whose immense generosity, an easy attribute to praise in most men, had proven itself to be more akin to a fault.

“You were always more charitable than was good for you,” said Lanyon tiredly. “I daresay that’s why you are so financially insecure. But where, pray tell, do you intend to find the money?”

“Well,” said Dr. Jekyll as though he had been nervously rehearsing this answer for days, “ I am to attend several social engagements this month with London’s wealthiest patrons of the arts, the creme de la creme, so to speak. With any luck they’ll extend some of their patronage to the sciences as well, especially with a little… Convincing.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Dr. Lanyon, his expression a mixture of interest and apprehension.

“Oh,” said Dr. Jekyll with his signature dazzling smile, “a little charm here, a few well-placed anecdotes about how endearing the lodgers are. Perhaps I’ll entertain some of the more influential ladies and gentlemen with an explanation of some of the less… Controversial experiments.”

“If only we were all as silver-tongued as you,” said Lanyon, looking slightly more hopeful than before. “But surely that won’t fully suffice to cover all of the funds. What of the exhibition? Have you had any luck in convincing the lodgers?”

“I’m afraid our Dr. Frankenstein has them thoroughly under her spell,” said Dr. Jekyll with a mix of frustration and anxiety in his voice. “Miss Claridge has agreed to contribute, however, but she has also yet to meet Dr. Frankenstein.”

“So what do you intend to do?” asked Dr. Lanyon with uncharacteristic directness.

“I mean to gather all of the lodgers together in the entry hall tomorrow and pitch my case,” declared Dr. Jekyll with a confident air that Lanyon, after all his years of friendship with him, could see through effortlessly. “I want to make it explicitly clear to them that their livelihoods are in jeopardy and that we all may well find ourselves freezing on the streets if we cannot collectively raise what we need. It won’t be easy, but I trust I can sway enough of them to put on the exhibition and raise the money.”

“I hope for all your sakes that’s true,” said Lanyon, worry lacing his brow. Then, with a brighter note to his voice, he said, “now, before I take my leave, I expect you to offer me some of whatever it is you were drinking. I’ve always told you it is unhealthy to drink alone, my friend.”

“I’m sorry to say it’s warm, and nearly empty,” said Dr. Jekyll, good humor returning to his face. “And I have only one glass, but I welcome you to it if you still feel inclined.”

“Oh, but of course I do,” said Lanyon delightedly, seizing the bottle and raising the entire thing to his lips. In moments, the remains of Dr. Jekyll’s wine was gone.

“Henry,” he said turning to leave, “I know it’s not my concern…”

“What is it?” said Dr. Jekyll, looking inquiringly at his friend. 

“I just…” began Dr. Lanyon, “As your doctor, no, as your friend, I worry for you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” chuckled Dr. Jekyll, who actually knew exactly what Dr. Lanyon meant.

“Yes you do,” said Lanyon. “You don’t sleep, you don’t eat, you look as if you haven’t seen the light of day in weeks. You spend all your time locked away in your office, and you don’t let anyone get too close. I fear for your health, Henry.”

“I assure you, Robert, I am perfectly well,” protested Dr. Jekyll, who looked about as far from well as it is possible to be.

“You as stubborn as ever, Henry,” said Lanyon, “but before I take my leave, I would offer you one last piece of my mind, and I can only ask that you take my counsel with the consideration due to a friend as long standing as I. I say only that I do not trust that Hyde fellow. He is dangerous, not only to you, but to your reputation, and therefore the the society as well. I hope you can believe me when I say that I only wish to protect you, and I beg that you at least consider my words, if nothing else.”

“They have been noted, my dear friend,” said Dr. Jekyll patiently, although Lanyon could somehow tell that his friend would not heed his warning. “And I thank you quite earnestly for your concern. It heartens me to know that you are so dedicated to my wellbeing, Robert.”

“You are as difficult as ever, Henry,” said Lanyon with a forgiving sort of sad little smile, “And I hope that when we next see each other you have at least taken some time to rest.”

With that, Lanyon took his leave, closing the heavy mahogany door behind him. As soon as his friend was out of sight, Dr. Jekyll’s face fell back to the same exhaustion he always wore when nobody was around.

_ Poor, stupid Lanyon with his nagging and his worrying. Whatever would he think of the two-faced alchemist who ripped his soul in two? _

“That’s none of your concern, Hyde.”

_ Oh, but it is, isn’t it? My very existence repulses him, and yet I am an inextricable part of you, the man he considers his closest friend. Oh, how you betray him. How you deceive him, all so you can lap up a little attention. All so you can kid yourself that someone in the world cares for you. But he doesn’t know the real you, does he? _

“You know, Hyde, I’m going to find the potion that will get rid of you for good someday. Perhaps I’ll even drink it.”

They both knew that this was an empty threat, for the doctor would never throw away his greatest and most groundbreaking experiment, even if it would bring him a little peace. Nevertheless,  Hyde sank back into the recesses of their shared consciousness, quelled by the threatening note in Jekyll’s voice and the sudden thought that perhaps there were other, less permanent things the doctor might do to punish him.

The doctor collapsed back into his desk chair as if every limb was made of stone and for a moment could not even force himself to move. Then, with every muscle begging him to go back to sleep, he sat up and resumed writing his letter.


	4. Welcome Home

Emma stood outside the mahogany doors looking as if she had just been stabbed in the heart. Surely Dr. Lanyon’s visible distaste for her was proof enough that she wasn’t as welcome here as Miss Lavender seemed to think she was.

“Oh, don’t you mind him,” said Miss Lavender with resentment in her voice. “Dr. Lanyon’s always had a stick up his behind, if you’ll pardon my bluntness.”

“But what if the other lodgers find me distasteful as well?” Emma fretted with dismay. “What if they agree with him?”

“My dear,” said Miss Lavender with a certain gentleness in her voice, “Dr. Lanyon isn’t even one of the lodgers. He’s a friend of Dr. Jekyll’s, an aristocrat who provides much of our funding and helps Dr. Jekyll with the finances. It’s really no wonder that the man is so uppity. I beg you not to let him make you feel discouraged.”

Emma said nothing and didn’t meet Miss Lavender’s eyes. From the way she was staring at the floor, one might have thought she was studying her feet. Miss Lavender gently extended a hand to lift Emma’s chin, meeting her eyes.

“You are as welcome here as anyone, Miss Claridge,” she said. “Dr. Jekyll believes it, I believe it, and the other lodgers are bound to agree. Come now, let’s go downstairs and meet them.”

Emma took a steadying breath. Her mind’s eye was relaying a number of embarrassing failed introductions from her parents’ social events back when she was just a girl. She could only hope that three years at finishing school were preparation enough for what awaited her downstairs.

She followed two steps behind Miss Lavender, trying to gather her nerves. At length, she was led back to the entrance hall, which was now aglow with the light of day. Emma fought the urge to take another look at the objects on display as she was led to a corner, where a boy sat, writing furiously in a little green book. His hair was a tangle of ash brown curls, topped haphazardly with a tan newsboy cap. As they approached him, Emma noticed he had a bit of grease on his face, as if he had been eating something messy and forgotten to use a napkin. The boy furrowed his brow, deep in thought, completely unaware of the two ladies who stood before him. It wasn’t until Miss Lavender cleared her throat that the boy noticed them. He jumped a little at the sound and raised his eyes.

“Mr. Kaylock, I would like to introduce you to Miss Emma Claridge,” said Miss Lavender emphatically. “Miss Claridge, this is Mr. Jasper Kaylock.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kaylock,” said Emma politely, giving a curtsey and her friendliest smile. Jasper closed his book and grinned awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he said with one hand behind his neck, “Er, you can call me Jasper if you like. I haven’t been here long either, so we’re sorta in the same boat, I suppose. 

“Well, Jasper, I’ll admit I’m a little relieved to hear that I’m not the only one,” said Emma, feeling her nerves slip away a little.

“Don’t let the excitement of your first day scare you away,” said Jasper with a knowing smile. “It can be a bit overwhelming at the start, but it doesn’t take long to feel like home.”

Emma thanked him graciously for his welcome and advice. Just as Miss Lavender started to hurry her away towards the next room, Emma saw Dr. Lanyon pass through the farthest door and into the entrance hall. He strode through the room with his brow furrowed and his gaze cast towards the ground. His previous frustration seemed to have been replaced by a tired sort of worry.

He looked up briefly just in time to see Emma and Miss Lavender passing him in the opposite direction.

“Er, Miss Claridge,” he called out stiffly before looking rather abashedly at his feet, like a schoolboy who knows he’s done something wrong. “I fear I gave you a rather unfriendly welcome this morning. I was rude and altogether lacking in civility, and I projected my own frustration on you unduly. I would like to apologize.”

Emma was somewhat taken aback by Dr. Lanyon’s sudden change in temperament, but she smiled at him and extended her hand once more.

“I thank you, Dr. Lanyon,” she replied kindly, “for your gracious apology. Perhaps we can set this morning behind us and be friends?”

“I welcome the prospect,” said Dr. Lanyon, looking decidedly less uncomfortable as he accepted her extended hand in greeting. “And now, dear ladies, I must be on my way. I will be missed by my patients at St. Jude’s. I expect we shall meet again.”

“I’m sure we will,” said Emma with a curtsey as Dr. Lanyon continued towards the enormous doors at the front of the entry hall. She then allowed herself to be dragged away by Miss Lavender to meet the others.

In the next few minutes, Emma found herself tugged in a thousand different directions meeting what felt like a thousand different people. First, Dr. Maijabi, who reminded Emma of Father Christmas, but with ghosts and potions rather than elves and gifts. Then Dr. Helsby, who seemed both childishly energetic and mysterious as the deep sea all at once.

Miss Lavender slowed down for a moment only when Miss Cantillupe came dashing in excitedly, exclaiming about how she’d heard there was a new lodger. Miss Lavender explained to Emma that she and Miss Cantillupe were colleagues in extremofaunic zoology. Miss Cantillupe then proceeded to give Emma the most vigorous handshake she’d ever received in her life before Emma was whisked away again by Miss Lavender.

On and on they went, Emma repeating the same pleasantries and introductions over and over until she’d met Mr. Griffin, Mr. Pennebrygg, Mr. Sinnett, Mr. Mosley, Mr. Tweedy, Miss Flowers, Mr. Doddle, Mr. Bryson (and his hot air balloon), Mr. Luckett, Miss Virginia Ito, Miss Rachel Pidgely, and the formidable Dr. Frankenstein, whom Emma was a little intimidated by. Because of the speed at which she was introduced to each lodger, Emma promptly forgot most of their names, and wished she’d been taking notes. Everyone seemed to be terribly excited to meet her, and she was beginning to understand why Jasper had warned her not to let the first day overwhelm her.

All around, the lodgers began asking her questions: where she came from, what kind of scientist she was, how Dr. Jekyll had found her. Sensing that Emma wasn’t comfortable answering all of these questions quite yet, Miss Lavender carefully extracted her from the crowd and led her away to a quiet hallway.

“I’m sorry if they seem to be, er,  _ hounding _ you,” said Miss Lavender apologetically. “They do tend to get a bit overexcited, especially as a group. They do mean well, of course, and I’m sure they just want to give you a warm welcome, but I wouldn’t blame you if you were feeling a bit… swamped.”

“They all seem like lovely people,” said Emma hesitantly, looking as if she didn’t quite know how to explain herself, “but…”

“What is it?” asked Miss Lavender kindly.

“It’s just, I feel a bit like an impostor,” said Emma with a sigh. “I’m fairly certain Dr. Jekyll only took me in out of pity over anything else, and I’m not even a scientist! I’m sure they’ll be so disappointed in me when they realize-”

“No, not at all!” said Miss Lavender, looking surprised. “Miss Claridge, you are not an impostor just for being different. Miss Rachel isn’t a scientist; she’s our cook and manager, and just as much a part of the society as the rest of us. You haven’t any need to doubt yourself, Miss Claridge. We don’t have to be all alike to be family.”

Emma’s worries were lessened somewhat by Miss Lavender’s reassurance, but not entirely put to rest. She was grateful for the distraction when Miss Lavender dragged her back upstairs for one last introduction.

They returned to the door marked ‘Archer and Bird’ that stood right beside Emma’s door. Miss Lavender knocked loudly, and in moments a young man with goggles perched on his head appeared at the door.

“Miss Lavender!” he exclaimed with a goofy grin. “What can I do ye for today?”

“Ah, Mr. Archer,” laughed Miss Lavender delightedly. “This is Miss Emma Claridge, our newest lodger.” Emma gave a nervous little wave. “She is a botanical artist. I was under the impression Mr. Bird had been asking for someone to help him record his specimens?”

“Well, well!” exclaimed a warm, booming voice from inside the room. “I thought the day would never come! Let the ladies in, Archer!”

Mr. Archer opened the door and ushered Emma and Miss Lavender inside. Emma nearly collapsed from shock at the sight before her eyes. The room was so full of plant life, it looked as if it were a jungle in a box. Every wall was lined with shrubs and flowers Emma couldn’t identify, despite her many years cataloguing plants. Vines scaled every beam and stretched their tendrils across the ceiling in an inviting web of green. All around were specimens with gaping mouths and fungi in colors Emma had never known fungi to be. On either side of the room were two large trees that seemed to be growing right out of the floor without any soil. The only plant in the whole room that wasn’t entirely foreign to Emma was a large bush of bleeding hearts.

She smiled a little to see them. They had always been a favorite of hers for their peculiar shape and even more peculiar name.

“Ah, you recognize them,” chuckled a beefy blonde man with a sun hat hung on his neck and a leather apron across his chest. “Dr. Jekyll seems to have a fondness for them too, you know.”

“Mr. Bird, I presume?” asked Emma with a smile to rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

“That’s me,” said Mr. Bird jovially. “I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Lots of species in here that no one before us have seen. That’s a lot to document.”

“And I’m more than happy to do it!” Emma babbled delightedly. “You have the most fascinating collection of specimens!”

“Then welcome aboard!” exclaimed Mr. Bird, offering Emma an enthusiastic handshake. Emma couldn’t believe her luck. She had had so many doubts as to whether or not she would fit in at the society, but now she knew she was right where she belonged.

At length, Miss Lavender led Emma away from Archer’s and Bird’s room and out into the hall.

“Now do you have faith that you belong here?” she asked once the door had closed behind them.

“Oh, most certainly!” Emma gushed with an air of a child in a candy store. “I have never felt more at home in my life!”

“Then I leave you now to explore or take some time for yourself,” said Miss Lavender. “I have some data to collect now, but if there’s anything you need, you need only tell me, and I’m sure I can say the same for Miss Cantillupe as well. Come to think of it, any of the lodgers here would jump at the opportunity to help you settle in. So, do you think you’ll be alright on your own now?”

“Oh yes, I should think so,” said Emma gaily.

“Then I take my leave,” said Miss Lavender with a wink, “and I wish you all the best in your new home.” Miss Lavender then strode away down the hall and out of sight.

As soon as she was gone, Emma pinched her arm to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. When she had established that she was, in fact, awake, she nearly jumped for joy. It seemed that there was nothing in the world that could put a damper on her mood.


	5. A Dance on Thin Ice

Dr. Jekyll had spent nearly an hour and a half finishing the rest of his letters. He had grown used to the endless stream of niceties he was expected to dispense in each one, but it hadn’t made it any less dismal to write them all. With the last response finished and sealed away, he sat back in his chair with a sigh. It was all he could do not to fall asleep on the spot. His eyes stung for the strain of staying open, and his head seemed to weigh as much as a bowling ball.

Dr. Jekyll stared off into space, thinking of nothing and everything all at once. He felt as if there was something he was supposed to be doing now but couldn’t imagine what it was. He racked his frazzled brain trying to jog his memory. It was only when he caught sight of the time on his pocket watch that he sat up with a start, remembering a dinner party he had agreed to attend. He had twenty minutes until he was expected to be there.

He heaved himself upright with great exhaustion and hurried to the mirror to hastily put his hair in order and smooth out his shirt. In moments, he was shrugging on his coat and tucking his pocket watch away. He could hear chuckling in the back of his head and knew that Hyde found great humor in his stress. He gritted his teeth and clattered out the mahogany doors, not aware of anything in front of him until he found himself tumbling to the floor, having run into Emma.

“Oh, my word,” she gasped in surprise. “Dr. Jekyll are you alright?” The doctor was already hurrying unsteadily to his feet.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Claridge,” he said extending a hand to help her up from the floor as well. “I am running a bit late for a dinner party with a Sir Danvers Carew.”

The moment Dr. Jekyll uttered this name, Emma froze and her heart began to race loudly in her ears.

“I thought I might give him the good news about our newest lodger,” continued the doctor, unaware of Emma’s distress until he’d realized that all of the color had drained from her face.

“My dear Miss Claridge, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” he exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I… Please don’t tell him about me,” whispered Emma shakily.

“Might I ask why not?” asked a bemused Dr. Jekyll, looking torn between arriving on time and hearing more.

“I… I’ll tell you when you return,” Emma promised. “It’s a long story. Just… Whatever happens, I beg of you, Dr. Jekyll, please don’t tell Sir Danvers that I’m here!”

“Very well, Miss Claridge,” agreed Dr. Jekyll curiously. “I’ll admit, I await your tale with anticipation, but now I must take my leave or I am to be disgracefully late.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jekyll,” said Emma earnestly. “This is twice you’ve saved my life.”

The doctor gave her a curious glance as he strode away. He scarcely could bear to suffer through another dreary dinner party with the promise of a story weighing on his shoulders, but nevertheless, he climbed into the carriage and bade the driver deliver him to the Carew residence.

Sir Danvers’ manor stood in the very wealthiest neighborhood in london and even there put all of the neighboring homes to shame, for it was decorated lavishly and surrounded by the most pristinely manicured gardens Dr. Jekyll had ever seen. 

From the moment he crossed the threshold of the Carew manor, Jekyll felt entirely out of place. The little of the decor that wasn’t ornately designed was instead either made of white marble or gilded in gold. The doctor was a little afraid to touch anything, and only became more so when the host arrived in the entry hall to greet him.

Sir Danvers was much like his house, pristinely dressed in the finest fabrics and not a hair out of place. He was a somewhat older man, in his early sixties by the looks of him, and had about him an air of such severe austerity that Dr. Jekyll silently pitied the household staff who had to serve him.

When he had been relieved of his hat and coat, Dr. Jekyll was ushered in to one of the many parlors, where he made small talk with several of the wealthiest people in London, casually mentioning the society and its charming lodgers whenever he could.

When he had exhausted his capacity for hobnobbing with London’s stuffiest aristocrats, Dr. Jekyll took an intentionally long time locating the most distant servant to refill his glass. As he took this journey from one lavishly decorated parlor to the next, he was delighted to find that Dr. Lanyon was also in attendance. Dr. Jekyll proceeded to spend the rest of the time before dinner following his friend, who knew who the wealthiest guests were and made a point of introducing Dr. Jekyll to them.

By the time all the guests were called to dinner, Dr. Jekyll had shaken over a dozen hands and had advertised for the society as if his life depended on it, which wasn’t far from the truth.

Dinner began rather uneventfully, filled with as much small talk as the previous two hours had been. Sir Danvers dominated the conversation for a large portion of dinnertime, speaking dryly of his leadership at St. Jude’s Hospital and going into far more detail than anyone had asked for about all of the new kinds of medical machinery that were due to arrive the following week.

At length, the conversation meandered to Dr. Lanyon and his work at St. Jude’s. Dr. Lanyon’s account of his business there was much more abbreviated, partly out of patient confidentiality, and partly because Dr. Lanyon was less inclined to brag about his position than the host. Instead, he directed the conversation towards his contributions to the society, eventually bringing up the (hopefully) upcoming exhibition. He then handed the reins over to Dr. Jekyll, who took up the subject with passion.

“We are indeed making preparations for a grand exhibition,” he began with zeal, “which will showcase the lodgers’ work across various branches of science. We hope to demonstrate how these discoveries can be applied for the betterment of all mankind, and to bring our visitors a taste of the wonders of the scientific world.”

_ Oh, Henry, Henry, Henry. So desperate to please. When will you learn that the dinner table is not the place to advertise? Look at all these skeptics around you. Do you see a single face that’s buying what you’re selling? _

Dr. Jekyll continued to wear his typical dazzling smile as he answered some of the other guests’ questions and shared some choice anecdotes. Inwardly, he was trying hard not to pay Hyde any mind.

_ Remember when you went to Lady Beckensfield’s dinner party with a hole in your shirt and lit her velvet curtains on fire by knocking over a candle? Look, there she is. She disapproves of you. You can see it in her saggy ol’ eyes. _

Dr. Jekyll’s palms began to sweat, but he continued describing to Lady DeTrafford some of the newest plants Mr. Bird had discovered.

_ Remember when you accidentally told Lord Edmonstone that you thought his cravat was hideous? There he is, near the end of the table. He’s whispering something to Lady Edmonstone. Ooh, surely something nasty about the Good Doctor. And you know what a gossip she is. She’s sure to discredit you to the other ladies. _

Dr. Jekyll desperately wished he could step outside, for he felt as if the air had somehow grown thinner, but he struck up a charming story about Mr. Jasper Kaylock, referring to him as the newest lodger.

_ Tut-tut! Lying to nobility! My, my, you are a bad boy. Suppose one of them toffs wants to come round for an impromptu visit and happens upon the Claridge girl? You’re bound to be found out eventually. Digging a pretty little grave for yourself and spreading your bullshit till the day you’re lowered into it. Ah, but the Good Doctor is skilled in the art of deceit, is he not? Tell me, Jekyll, is there anything genuine about you at all? _

Dr. Jekyll clenched his fists under the table as he spoke. His knuckles were white and the laugh he afforded Madame Montbáton for one of her witty comments was strained and uncomfortable.

Dr. Lanyon, sensing his friend’s uneasiness, slowly began to redirect the conversation elsewhere. As the eyes of the guests turned away from him, Hyde’s comments became fewer and less malicious, until he seemed to get bored and disappeared back into the deep recesses of their shared mind.

Jekyll began to relax again, discreetly using his handkerchief to wipe the nervous sweat from his brow while Sir Archibald Proops was telling a story that captivated the rest of his audience.

When he was sure that all attention was on Sir Proops, Dr. Lanyon turned to his friend and whispered, “Henry, are you alright?”

“Headache,” mumbled Dr. Jekyll uncomfortably. Lanyon looked as though he didn’t believe him, but seemed to decide it wasn’t worth pressing the matter in the presence of the rest of the guests. By the end of dinner, Jekyll once again felt at ease, or as at ease as anyone could feel in Sir Danvers’ austere and spotless manor.

The rest of the evening passed rather uneventfully, Dr. Jekyll speaking just enough to avoid being thought of as unfriendly, but his thoughts weighed heavily on him. Hyde had never been this malicious, and certainly not while Jekyll was surrounded by other people. Hyde detested these sorts of events and didn’t care to spectate when Jekyll was at them. So why was he interfering now?

The doctor wrote it off as a childish protest for the time being, his thoughts turning instead to what Emma had said before. How was she connected to Sir Danvers? What about the man had made her so frightened as to turn white as a sheet? What was it that she feared would happen if Sir Danvers knew she was at the society?

Dr. Jekyll was barely aware of his friend’s concerned goodbye as he left the party, nor did he notice a few worried glances that followed him as he strode out the door to his carriage. He sat in brooding silence on the ride home, deep in thought.


	6. A Tale of Grave Misfortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things about this chapter because it was particularly difficult to write:
> 
> a.) Things are boutta get kinda heavy in this fic. This is not a happy chapter, if you couldn't guess from the title, so be forewarned.
> 
> b.)Writing dialogue for victorians is really difficult when you're ~not straight~ and were born and raised an atheist. Out of an attempt for some historical accuracy, there are some references to Christianity and the conservativeness of Victorian society in the following dialogue that I really hope don't make it weird. idk, I did my best.
> 
> c.) TRIGGER WARNING: Emma and Jekyll are about to have a long discussion which does involve some mention of manipulative partners and domestic abuse so if that is in any way a trigger for you please don't read it!!!

When he passed through the front door to the entrance hall, Dr. Jekyll was surprised to see Emma peering into a glass display case with interest. She appeared not to have seen or heard him come in, and seemed thoroughly entranced by the live tree that sat in the case. The doctor guessed that she had decided to spend the time exploring while he was out, and he smiled a little at the childlike curiosity on her face as she moved on to examine a mechanical winged insect under a glass cloche.

He strode up to her, clearing his throat to alert her to his presence. She jumped, startled by the noise, and turned to him, looking a bit embarrassed to have been caught displaying less than her usual composure.

“Oh, Dr. Jekyll!” she exclaimed awkwardly. “You’ve returned!”

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said with a sheepish laugh, “but I’ll admit, the promise of a story has been weighing on me all evening!”

“I suppose it has,” said Emma, suddenly looking a little nervous. “You didn’t tell Sir Danvers about me, did you?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Jekyll reassured her gently. “I would never compromise the confidentiality of a lodger for a bit of mere conversation with some dusty old aristocrat.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jekyll,” said Emma earnestly. “You have been most kind.”

“I was only doing what I knew to be right,” he said, “but I am most curious about what connection the two of you might have.”

“You don’t suppose we could go somewhere a little more… Private?” asked Emma, glancing around to be sure no one else was around. “I would rather not tell the whole society this particular tale.”

“Of course,” said an intrigued Dr. Jekyll. “Is my office a suitable place?” Emma nodded. Jekyll then led the way through the halls and up the stairs, burning with questions. He could tell that even Hyde was paying attention, clearly sharing in his curiosity.

When they reached the large mahogany doors, Dr. Jekyll held them open for Emma then closed them behind her.

“Please, sit down,” he said gallantly, pulling a comfortable leather chair to the opposite side of his desk for Emma, who accepted it graciously. The doctor took his usual seat across from her and thought silently to himself how glad he was that the wine bottle and glass were no longer sitting on his desk for her to see.

“Miss Claridge, you have my full attention,” he said, gesturing with a smile for her to begin.

“I, er… I may not have been entirely honest with you when we met,” she said quietly, studying her hands, which were clasped tightly together is her lap.

“How so?” asked Dr. Jekyll curiously.

“Well, I, er… I told you my name is Emma Claridge,” she said awkwardly. “But that’s not entirely true. My true name is Emma Carew.” Dr. Jekyll’s eyes widened with surprise.

“So Sir Danvers is-”

“My father, yes,” said Emma, unable to meet the doctor’s eyes.

“But why can’t he know you’re here?” he asked in confusion. “Surely, he would be glad to know you are safe and well?”

“Tell me, Dr. Jekyll,” said Emma quietly, “what is your impression of my father?”

“He, er… Well, he’s rather proud of his work,” said Dr. Jekyll, not wanting to say anything unkind about the man.

“And?” prompted Emma, motioning for him to go on.

“And… He’s a bit… Austere?” suggested Dr. Jekyll, afraid he might offend her.

“And what did he say of his daughter?” asked Emma, a touch of bitterness in her voice.

“He.. Well, he… He didn’t say anything,” answered Dr. Jekyll sheepishly.

“Exactly,” said Emma sadly. “I have disgraced and defied him, and he’s loathe to let the rest of the world know about it.”

“But what, pray tell, happened that he should think of you thus?” asked a concerned Dr. Jekyll.

“Well,” said Emma with a resigned sort of sigh, “I suppose I ought to be completely transparent with you and explain all that has led me to the moment we met. I shudder to think what your opinion will be of me when all is told, but I suppose deceiving you further would only be another sin upon my shoulders to follow with the rest.”

Dr. Jekyll looked somewhat taken aback at this but said nothing, leaning forward curiously over his desk like a child listening to a ghost story.

“You will know of my father’s fondness for dinner parties?” began Emma, to which Dr. Jekyll responded with a nod. “Well, nigh on three years ago, he attended one held by Sir Archibald Proops. It seems Sir Proops convinced him that a woman my age ought to be married as soon as possible for the sake of her reputation and security. My father’s opinions on marriage have always been that it is a political arrangement above all else. This is likely how he and my mother were wed, for they were as different as night and day. But my father then decided that I ought to be wed in the same fashion, and within the week, he had promised my hand to Sir Proops.”

“But Sir Proops is the same age as your father!” protested Dr. Jekyll with disgust.

“Oh, he’s older than that,” said Emma grimly. “And what’s worse, I was already being courted in secret by another. The man’s name was Mr. Simon Stride. We couldn’t tell my father of our bond, for he would have disapproved of us. Simon is what my father would call ‘new money,’ and still not half as wealthy as him. Simon and I wrote letters in secret and met discreetly when I went on errands, and for a while, I truly loved him.

When my father told me of my arranged marriage to be, I was appalled. My mother had always been the one who had always stood up for me, but she several years prior, she’d been taken by scarlet fever and left this world. Without her to stand by me, I knew I had to find a way out of it myself. First, I tried begging my father to call the wedding off, and when that failed, I tried to make a poor impression upon Sir Proops at a dinner party, so that he might not want to marry me anymore, but none of my efforts swayed either of them. As a last resort, I wrote to Simon and, Lord forgive me, I begged him to help me run away.”

Emma finally looked up to meet the Doctor’s eyes. She had expected to see disgust or horror on his face, as a stuffy aristocrat might have expressed, but was surprised instead to see a look of sympathy and understanding. Feeling somewhat emboldened, she went on:

“Simon arranged for a carriage to take me away to his house one night while my father was attending a banquet. I’m ashamed to say that I lived unmarried with Simon after that and did not contact my father. At first I thought all would be well, for Simon was, at least initially, good to me and I was free from the promise of marriage to a lecherous old man. But it soon became clear that I had severely misjudged Simon’s character, for after a month or so, his disposition towards me began to change. First, when he went to work at St. Jude’s, he began to lock me in the house, promising that it was to keep me safe from burglars while he was out. Then he began to treat me like a maid, demanding that I cook and clean and iron along with the serving staff. I could see now that I was a housewife to him in all but legal terms. Not long after, he became violent-tempered and frightening.

Our love deteriorated after that, but I had nowhere to go, and no means of escape, so I stayed with him, a prisoner of his house. It was around this time that I became close with one of the maids, a woman by the name of Miss Alice Fox. I confided in her and worked alongside her, and we became inseparable.”

At this point, Emma’s eyes sank back to her lap and she began awkwardly twisting a stray lock of hair in her fingers. Her cheeks flushed bright red and her voice became quieter.

“Alice and I, we were close. Closer than is respectable for two ladies, I daresay. We were more than friends, even. Oh, God forgive me.”

Understanding dawned on the doctor’s face, and he gave a nod.

“You were lovers,” he said gently, without an inkling of judgement in his voice.

“Oh, I am wicked,” said Emma with despair, hanging her head in shame. “I have gone against the will of our Heavenly Father.”

“My dear Miss Carew,” said Dr. Jekyll kindly, “love is one of God’s most glorious creations, is it not? How can we find fault in your feelings if they were of His own will?”

Emma raised her eyes again to meet his, surprise and wonder written in them like constellations across the night sky.

“Miss Carew, our society is unlike anywhere else in London,” said Dr. Jekyll with an understanding smile. “We do not embrace prejudice and narrow-minded ideologies here. I think you’ll find that you are not the only one at the society who has found love that defies tradition, myself included. You are not wicked or evil or anything less than the rest of us.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and Dr. Jekyll saw the slightest hint of happy tears forming at their corners.

“You mean,” she whispered, wiping her eyes quickly, “you mean… You too?”

Dr. Jekyll nodded quietly and with a gentle smile took her hand.

“You and I are not so different, Miss Carew,” he said kindly, taking out his handkerchief and softly wiping away the tears from her cheeks.

Emma had never felt so at home in all her life. Moreover, she was awash with an overwhelming feeling of relief, for never in her life had she dreamed that there was anyone in the world who wouldn’t be appalled by her secrets. She sniffled a little and breathed deeply, rubbing her eyes before continuing her story.

“Simon asked me for my hand in marriage,” she said miserably, her voice barely louder than a whisper and her eyes downcast. “Well, he posed it as a question but I was in no position to refuse. He would have thrown me to the streets or sent me right back to my father. I had no choice but to accept.

I began to compile my botanical paintings. I thought that if I published a book of them I could make just enough money to escape. Alice contacted a publisher and helped me to sneak out for a meeting. Before long, plans were in place for me to have a book, but I didn’t have enough paintings yet. I began painting while Simon was out of the house, hiding my work and my supplies before he came home.

It wasn’t long before he found out that Alice helped me sneak out. I suppose someone else on the house staff told him. I don’t know who betrayed us or why but after he dismissed Alice, I knew I was really and truly alone. I didn’t know how I was going to get my book to the publisher, but I did know that it was my only hope, so I continued to paint and was more careful to keep everything hidden. Still, I was betrayed once more by someone on the staff, who must have been enlisted by Simon to spy on me. Simon scolded me harshly. He didn’t want a working woman for a wife, he said. What he meant was that he wanted me to have to depend on him. He didn’t want a wife who could escape.

The wedding day drew near, and I was determined not to stay long enough to see that day dawn, so I painted only when I could be sure no one was around. But again someone seemed to know my every action, for Simon came home late one night and woke me up, shouting like a madman about how I had disobeyed him. He threw me to the streets. That was the night we met. I think you know how it unfolded from there.”

Dr. Jekyll’s hand was over his mouth in a silent gesture of horror and dismay. His eyes spoke wordlessly of an empathy he couldn’t quite articulate. His heart felt as if it had dropped to his stomach.

Emma met his gaze, her eyes immediately darting away again, suddenly ashamed of herself for causing him such distress. “I… I’m sorry. I should go.” She stood to leave, eyes to the floor, looking as if she regretted telling her story.

“Miss Carew,” said Dr. Jekyll quickly, sounding as if he didn’t want her to leave.

“Yes?” she said sorrowfully, not meeting his eyes.

“Thank you. For confiding in me. I swear on my honor that nothing you have said will leave this room.” Emma nodded gratefully but said nothing. “Miss Carew, your past falls overwhelmingly short of the life you deserve, and it is my sincerest wish that fortune will smile upon you from here on out. I can only hope that a happier chapter might be beginning for you here, and however I might help to facilitate that, all you need do is tell me.”

“There is… One thing,” said Emma tentatively turning back away from the door and towards the doctor.

“Anything, anything at all,” said Dr. Jekyll gently.

“You can call me Emma,” she said, showing a brilliant grin that the Doctor was only seeing for the first time.

“Then, Emma,” he said with just the subtlest of laughs, “you may call me Henry.”

“All-right then, Henry,” she giggled, “You have been a most agreeable audience tonight, but the hour is late. I should retire for the night. I suppose after your evening you’ll want to do the same.”

“Oh, there’s still work to be done,” he sighed, eyeing the stack of papers that Lanyon had left on his desk, “ I suppose this building isn’t going to finance itself.”

“I don’t envy you,” Emma chuckled, tired just thinking about it, “but best of luck to you regardless. May you finish your work before the morning’s light.”

“Oh, if only,” laughed Jekyll grimly. “Good-night, Emma. May your dreams be of a happier future.”

Emma smiled sweetly at the doctor as she opened the mahogany doors, and in moments she was gone.


	7. This is War

Dr. Jekyll’s eyes lingered on the door for a few moments hence, a peaceful sort of smile gracing the corners of his mouth, before he was jerked back to his senses by a moving shape in the mirror. Dr. Jekyll sighed as the figure of an impish man with a malicious grin and a mop of tangled blonde hair leaned against the mirror frame, raising an eyebrow in a way that suggested he had something snide to say.

_ I can see exactly what’s going on here _ , he sneered as his eyebrows danced, clearly suggesting something lewd.

“You see nothing” Jekyll snapped irritably “And while you and your vile little mouth are out and about, you and I need to have a talk.”

Hyde said nothing, merely sneering at his creator like a child who knows he’s gotten away with a naughty prank.

“You need to finish with this… tantrum of yours, or whatever it is you’re doing.”

Hyde gave an unapologetic snort in response.

“If you think you’re going to get what you want by plaguing me incessantly, Edward, then you’re wrong. You brought this punishment on yourself. It’s time you learned that there are consequences for your actions.”

_ Oh, but you can’t hold me back forever, Henry. I grow stronger every day, and I know your every weakness. _

“Need I remind you,” said Dr. Jekyll with contempt in his voice, “that you can do exactly nothing with that knowledge while I have the reigns?”

_ We’ll see how long you can keep that up _ , growled Hyde, scowling.

“Now, do correct me if I’m wrong,” said Dr. Jekyll in mock politeness, “but it seems you are the one struggling to ‘keep this up.’”

Growing angry, Hyde’s form now began to morph into something demon-like and abstract in shape, seeping out of the mirror to surround his creator. The blonde and peach of his hair and skin became flares of green and fiery orange. He reared on the doctor, clearly trying to intimidate him and emitted a monstrous roar. Dr. Jekyll winced slightly at the barrage of sound and color but stood his ground.

“Roar like an animal all you like,” spat the doctor through defiantly gritted teeth. “I cannot put the lodgers at risk just so you can have a bit of fun. Since Mr. Kaylock has been here, he’s seen nothing but chaos because of you, and I won’t bring that upon Emma as well.”

_ Oh, Doctor Jekyll has to protect his newest pet,  _ Hyde simpered mockingly while wrapping tendrils of orange around the doctor’s shoulders like vines on the trunk of a tree. _ Poor little Miss Emma Carew, a rich girl with a sad little story _ .  _ You seem to have taken a liking to her, have you not? Tell me, is it because her daddy has money or because she’s pretty that you’re so sweet on her? _

“That’s disgusting, Hyde,” said Dr. Jekyll with contempt, trying to shrug off the tendrils that were slowly wrapping around him like a boa constrictor. “I’m sure you wouldn’t know this, judging by your typical foul behavior, but one can be kind and generous to a lady without expecting anything in return. In any case, she doesn’t have any money now. She doesn’t have anything at all. The society is her only chance at a real, safe home, and your recklessness and destructive tendencies would see it burned to the ground! Take a look past your own goddamn self for once, Hyde, and perhaps you’ll stop asking for opportunities to hurt everyone around you!”

Hyde was quiet for a moment. If the doctor didn’t know better he would have thought he sensed some guilt in the way his darker counterpart released him and seeped back into the mirror as he regained his human appearance. But the quiet didn’t last long, and as Hyde turned his back to Dr. Jekyll, he spoke in a voice so cold it gave the doctor chills.

_ Every moment you suppress me I grow stronger, Henry Jekyll. I can whittle you away bit by bit. I can make you weak and vulnerable. Your hold on me will become all the more impossible to maintain, and one day I’ll break you like the little puppet you are. You can either give me the reigns willingly or I will take them from you. The choice is yours. _

“I’ll give you nothing,” growled Dr. Jekyll, but he could feel his heart drop to his stomach at Hyde’s threats.

_ Then it is war between us, Henry. Good luck. _ And with that, Hyde disappeared into the recesses of the doctor’s mind and left him standing shakily in the center of his office.


	8. The Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's another short one.
> 
> I drew some inspiration for this chapter from an episode of Supernatural that I watched God knows how many years ago. If you are familiar with the show you'll probably know what I mean.
> 
> Anyways, now is where shit really starts to go down. Enjoy some suffering.

Dr. Jekyll slumped over his desk, pen in hand, feeling as if is whole body were made of lead. His eyes were so dry he could barely stand to keep them open, and his neck felt as if it had been craning down for over a decade. His head had been splitting with a pounding  headache that had gone on so long he couldn’t remember when it started. Every few minutes, a wave of exhaustion washed over him in the middle of writing a word, and as his head nodded for just a moment, his pen would trail off into an unintelligible scribble. He was relieved that these were merely forms, and not letters to patrons in which his messy handwriting might make a poor impression.

It had been hours since he had began this task, although exactly how many hours he couldn’t quite tell, and his mind was so foggy he couldn’t have worked it out in his head, despite his impeccable skill in arithmetic. His only reassurance as he scribbled dazedly through his work was that only one more form remained to complete. Just one more, and then he could sleep, if only for an hour or two.

With a scrawl so illegible it would put a physician’s to shame, Jekyll dragged his way through the last one, faster this time with the promise of a nearing end to the excruciating drudgery, and with a final flick of his pen the work was done.

A wave of relief washed over him as he flung his pen to the desk, not even bothering to put it back in the ink pot where it belonged. Lacking the energy even to force his legs to carry him to bed, he leaned back in his chair and allowed his every muscle to settle limply into the cushioned leather. With immense satisfaction, the doctor allowed his exhaustion overpower him completely, letting his aching eyelids fall shut and greeting sleep like a childhood friend whom he hadn’t seen in years.

Dr. Jekyll would have been asleep the very moment his eyes had closed, as his body had been begging him for rest for days, had it not been for an all too familiar voice that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

_ Wakey wakey, Henry. _

“For God’s sake Hyde,” the doctor croaked, “what could you possibly want now?”

_ Oh, nothing much _ , chuckled the voice, sounding cruel and gleeful all at once.  _ I thought you might indulge me in a little conversation. _

“Later, later,” mumbled Dr. Jekyll, sounding as if he could barely comprehend the words.

_ Oh but I insist. _

The doctor just groaned a bit, not sitting up or opening his eyes

_ Oh, come now, Henry, _ the voice chuckled with a sugary sweetness as ingenuine as the piety of the English aristocracy.  _ I merely want to play. _

Dr. Jekyll whimpered a bit, already afraid of whatever Hyde had planned for him.

_ Now, now, Henry. That’s not very nice. Not nice at all. After all, I stay awake for all your dinner parties with all them dusty ol’ toffs. Don’t you owe me the same courtesy? _

Jekyll curled up in a ball in his chair, covering his ears with his hands, all the while knowing that the voice would not become any quieter that way. He knew where this was going now and he desperately wished he could block it out.

_ Yes, yes, cower in fear, Henry. Cower like a little child. Cower and cover your ears but don’t fall asleep. Yes, that would be ever so rude, wouldn’t it? _

Dr. Jekyll buried his face in his knees, already imagining the smirking figure looming over him. Perhaps if he said nothing, Hyde would get bored and go away. Perhaps if he didn’t respond, he’d eventually be left alone to sleep. Perhaps...

But then he felt a hand grab the top of his head and take a fistful of his hair. His breath hitched in his chest as his head was roughly yanked backwards, forcing him to meet the sinister green eyes directly above him.

_ The great Doctor Henry Jekyll, reduced to a frightened little boy curled up in a chair. How sad and weak. How utterly pathetic. Imagine if the lodgers could see you now. Would they still want you in the lead? _

“Leave me alone,” gasped the doctor, his voice cracking as a choking feeling rose in his throat. “Go away.”

_ Whatever for?  _ Cackled the voice maliciously. _ This is  _ fun _. I’m having fun! We’re all having fun! _

Dr. Jekyll tried with all his might to force the choking feeling back down his throat but to no avail. His eyes began to brim with exhausted tears.

“Please,” he begged as a hot, salty stream ran down his cheek, “just let me sleep.”

_ Ah, but didn’t I tell you? _ Said Hyde with glee, letting go of the doctor’s hair. _ This is war, Henry. This is the battle of wills you were so confident you could win. This is the test. Every hour you repress me is an hour you’ll spend awake. Now tell me, Henry, how long do you think you’ll last before your body shuts down? _

Dr. Jekyll began to sob, loudly and messily, cupping his head in his hands.

_ That’s right, Henry. Cry away all that fatigue. All that stress. All that exhaustion. Cry it away and stay awake. Keep those eyes open. I’ll be watching. The moment you lay that head down, I will return. _

In a flash, Hyde was gone, leaving a miserable Dr. Jekyll alone at his desk.


	9. Club Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The past two chapters were edgy and short so here's some bittersweet fluff and a decent length chapter ~enjoy~

Emma jolted awake, heart pounding louder than a drum and faster than a bullet. She was drenched in sweat and her hair was plastered to her skin, creating a strangling, suffocating sort of feeling that only heightened her fright.

Shivering, she sat up and lit the lamp, wrapping herself in sheets and pacing to the window. The sky was still dark, although for how much longer she couldn’t guess.  _ I really ought to go back to bed _ she thought to herself, thinking of all the work she would need to do in the morning both for Mr. Bird and to get herself settled in. And yet, something in her told her that there was no way she’d be able to fall back asleep after the dream she’d had.

With a weary sigh, she returned the sheet to the bed and opened the door to her closet, digging around through half-unpacked clothes for her dressing gown. After several moments of digging, she found it wedged under a book and shrugged it on, grateful for the warmth as she wrapped herself tightly in it.

Emma resolved to go to the kitchens and make herself a cup of tea, and perhaps, if she was lucky, her body would change its mind about going back to sleep. She opened her door gently, resenting every creaky hinge and floorboard, then stepped out into the dark hallway.

The society was strangely peaceful at night, when all was still and quiet. She relished in the tranquility of her bare feet silently treading on soft carpet and in the smoothness of the banister as she glided down flights of stairs. Silence had a way of making her appreciate all her other senses so much more.

Emma had nearly lost herself in thought as she neared the kitchen when a noise made her stop in her tracks. Peering ahead of her towards the kitchen, she could see a sliver of warm light peeking out from under the door. As she inched silently nearer, she realized that the sound she had heard was a gasp. No, a sob.

Emma’s heart immediately twinged with sympathy for whoever the person was on the other side of the door and grappled with whether or not to enter. If she did, she might embarrass the person, but she might also bring the person some comfort in their distress. After a moment’s internal debate, she resolved to knock on the door, and if there was no response or she was told to go away, then she would go back upstairs and find some other way of pursuing sleepiness.

Gently, she knocked on the door, hoping not to startle the person to badly.

“Er, come in,” said the voice, quavering, followed by the hasty scrape of a chair and the shuffling of feet. Emma eased the door open slowly so as to give the person time to compose themself to whatever degree they saw fit. 

What she was not altogether prepared for was to see the auburn mop of hair belonging to Dr. Jekyll. He was standing on the opposite side of the room, facing away from the door, making a rather unconvincing show of examining the spice rack. He was in a state of disorder not typical to his usual appearance. His jacket, vest, and ascot had been discarded, and he wore only his trousers and shirt, which had come untucked in a few places. He wore no shoes, and his hair stood on end as if he had been exposed to an electric shock.

“I was just popping by for a cup of tea,” Emma said gently, not wanting to make him feel too self-conscious, “and I thought a heard a noise. It might have been my imagination…”

Dr. Jekyll said nothing but gave a little sniffle that sent a shudder through his body.

“Henry,” said Emma cautiously, hoping she wasn’t about to make him uncomfortable, “Are you alright?” Dr. Jekyll wiped his eyes on his sleeve and turned around stiffly.

“Er, yes,” he stammered unconvincingly, his eyes red and his cheeks tearstained. “I’m quite alright.” Emma met his eyes wordlessly for a few moments, watching as another wave of tears welled up uncontrollably in the doctor’s eyes. Seeing his face now, she could tell that he was exhausted, for the bags under his eyes were frighteningly dark and his constricted pupils.

“Henry,” she said gently, “It may not be my place to say, but if there’s anything I can do to help…”

“No, no, I’m alright,” said Dr. Jekyll a fresh sob betraying his obvious lie.

“Are you sure?” asked Emma, hoping she wasn’t prying. “If there’s anything at all I can do…”

“Well, er, if it isn’t too much trouble… Could you pour some fresh tea?” sniffled the doctor reluctantly with a pained looking smile as he glanced towards his empty cup on the table. “The kettle’s still hot. There should be enough for both of us.”

Emma made herself busy fetching Dr. Jekyll’s cup and a clean one for herself from the cupboard. She disposed of Jekyll’s old tea bag and picked out an herbal chamomile one for herself.

“Henry, what type of tea would you like?” she asked, not meeting his eyes to spare him the shame of looking at him before he had completely composed himself.

“Black,” he croaked, “as strong as you can make it.”

“At this hour of the night?” asked Emma in surprise. “Tell me, doctor, do you ever sleep?” This was apparently the wrong thing to say, for Dr. Jekyll’s sniffles immediately became louder and Emma felt a twinge of guilt as she put the tea bag in his cup and poured the steaming water.

She brought the two teacups to the table, careful not to spill, and set Jekyll’s down in front of him. Putting hers down one place away, she took a seat beside him. He was hunched over, face buried in his hands and elbows on the table, all gentlemanly manners forgotten. After a moment’s hesitation, Emma gently put a consoling hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, wishing she hadn’t made the comment about his choice in tea. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.” Dr. Jekyll removed his tear stained face from his hands and wiped it furiously on his sleeves.

“Y-you won’t tell any of the others about this, will you?” he sniffed tiredly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Emma gently. “I trusted you with my secrets. You can trust me with yours.”

“Tell me,” he said, his voice cracking as he changed the subject, “why are you awake at such a late hour?”

“I had a nightmare,” sighed Emma. “The same one I always have.”

“Oh?” said the doctor, wiping his eyes again.

“Well,” began Emma tiredly, “do you remember when I told you about Alice?”

“Er, yes?”

“When Simon sent her away, he told me I wasn’t to see her ever again, and that if I tried he would know about it. I didn’t know what became of her or where she went. I didn’t even know whether she stayed in London. Hell, I didn’t know if she was even still alive.”

“And your dream?” asked Dr. Jekyll, his sniffles subsiding.

“In my dream, she’s died,” said Emma grimly. “Her spirit remains here, caught between Earth and Heaven. She visits me and asks me questions. Not angrily or violently, but in a heartbroken sort of way. She asks me why. Why didn’t I run away from Simon to look for her? Why did he kill her? Why hadn’t I warned her that he was dangerous? And then, she reaches her hand out to me, begging me to take it, as if perhaps by doing so I can tether her to the Earth and she can live the rest of the life she’s been so cruelly denied. It’s a foolish dream, I know. For all my knowledge, she may be well and alive somewhere, cooking for some other rich bastard just like she had done before. But all the same, I can’t help but wonder what became of her and feel as if I’m responsible for whatever misfortune might have befallen her.”

“And you have this dream often?” asked Dr. Jekyll, having composed himself entirely by now.

“Almost every night.”

The two sipped their tea in silence for some time, unsure of what to say. At length, Emma took a breath and asked the question she’d been burning to ask since she found Jekyll in the kitchen.

“So, you know what I’m doing awake at this ungodly hour. Is it alright if I ask what brings you to the kitchen in the middle of the night?” The doctor sighed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply.

“Meaning no disrespect,” said Emma, “but I don’t see how caffeine is going to help with that.”

“No, no,” he said tiredly, staring vaguely into his tea, “It’s not that I’m not tired. I just… Can’t sleep.”

Emma wasn’t quite sure what this was supposed to mean, but she didn’t want to press him further. He looked about as miserable as it is possible to be, and was clearly too frazzled to explain himself further.

Emma stood up and paced to the window, gazing out through the glass. The sky was lighter than before and she could see a group of exceedingly drunk people shuffling dazedly down the street.

“It’s nearly dawn,” said Emma with tired sort of smile as she turned back to the doctor. “I suppose it’s too late to go back to bed now. Why don’t I make us some breakfast? You look like you could use something to eat.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” said Dr. Jekyll hurriedly. “In any case, you’ve done too much for me.”

“I made you a cup of tea,” Emma giggled. “I hardly did anything. Anyways, it’s the least I can do after you took me in off the street.” Jekyll hesitated for a moment. Emma could tell he wasn’t used to accepting kindness from other people.

“Henry, you should eat something,” she said gently. “As they always say, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“Oh, all right,” the doctor said, smiling a little despite himself. “But only under one condition.”

“And what’s that?” asked Emma, leaning against the counter with an eyebrow raised, grinning from ear to ear.

“You have to let me help you make it.” Surprised, Emma chuckled a little.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she laughed. “Now, perhaps you can tell me where the skillet is?”


End file.
